


In Search of Comfort

by MyLittleCornerOfSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Hallucinations, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2179338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock/pseuds/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After John and Mary's wedding, Sherlock finds comfort in John's arms the only way he knows how.</p><p>Takes place during the events at the beginning of His Last Vow. Rated M for Drug Use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Search of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta, Batik. I always appreciate your help!

It’s 1 a.m. and reality starts to settle back in. It doesn’t rush in, crashing into him like waves on a stormy sea. That would be preferable to this slow loss of light from his world. The smile fades, the bright eyes grow dim, the laughter wanes, the body goes grey. And Sherlock is left with nothing but a memory and the acrid stench of dried sweat and urine, his arm reaching out for the body that is no longer – never really was – there.  He sobs once before groping in the interior pocket of his track coat, fingers wrapping around the syringe, and wishes this wasn’t what it took to give him everything he wanted.

It’s habit once again, muscle memory never really lost: Take off the cap, flick the tube, release the air bubbles, pull the fabric tight, pierce the vein, push the plunger, and release the tourniquet. It takes less than 18 seconds, a personal best. He hisses as the drug works its way into his bloodstream. Soon, he tells himself, soon.

***

_The return to his fantasy world comes much quicker than the loss of it. The dingy drug den fades away into a world of bright whites, pale yellows, light oranges, and soft pinks. In the middle of it all, his eyes blazing fierce and blue, stands John Watson with his arms open wide. Sherlock rushes into them, collapses, sobbing into the embrace._

_"Ssshhh," John whispers reassuringly, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "I'm here."_

_Sherlock plants kisses along the soft jumper covering John's abdomen before he looks up at John, tears running down his cheeks._

_"I'm so sorry. I miss you so much. This wasn't how it was supposed to be." The words tumble out in a rush. There's a small moment when Sherlock cringes at the sentiment, but he shrugs it off just as quickly. Sentiment is allowed here._

_John pulls him up and kisses Sherlock softly, John's lips warm and tender against his own. John feathers kisses across his cheeks, tracing the tears, kissing them away, brushing over his eyelids, and finally touches his forehead to Sherlock's._

_"Look at me," John says as his hands frame Sherlock's face._

_Sherlock's eyes flutter open. He gasps at the burning intensity in John's eyes._

_"You’re right, it wasn’t. But I’m right here, right now. You have me, and I’m not going anywhere,” John whispers fiercely._

_Sherlock wraps his arms around John’s waist, pulling him in tight, and clings to him like a lifeline._

***

It’s morning and the sun shines bright through the paneless windows. Sherlock blinks at the brightness of it. This time, thankfully, the fantasy world faded into a dreamless sleep. It was less painful than coming down while conscious but no less depressing. Good God, he can’t stand this wakeful world. He stumbles out of the drug den to go live the other lie. Janine is waiting and he can’t let her suspect anything. She is his key and he must keep up the ruse. Sherlock shivers, recalling the tender kisses from John, then shudders knowing he must now kiss someone else. At least he’ll have his memory to draw on; perhaps that will put some passion behind the kiss. Keep her happy, keep her fooled.

***

The day couldn’t be over soon enough. He retreats back to the abandoned building, works his way past the addicts, and claims his dirty mattress. He has established his territory and Billy makes sure no one takes this one forlorn comfort he allows himself.  Sherlock doesn’t even bother to wait. The needle is out and in his arm almost instantly, delivering that sweet delirium he so desires.

***

_Tonight the fantasy world is drenched in soft blues, pale greens, and the ever present bright whites. John wears nothing but jeans and a cotton T-shirt. His smile is radiant, warmer than the morning sun, and Sherlock barely contains a sob in John’s welcoming arms. The real world’s day had been torturous, full of fake smiles, not so chaste and unwanted kisses. He had always been a good actor, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pull off that farce of a relationship. Here, John holds him as long as he needs it. He feels John’s warm hands slowly caressing his back, offering gentle comfort._

_“You know I did it all for you, don’t you? I tried to explain, but I’ve never been very good at that sort of thing. I wouldn’t have left if there had been any other choice.” Here, Sherlock can voice the guilt he feels deep in his bones._

_“Of course I do.” Sherlock hears the smile in John’s voice. “I forgave you, didn’t I? Though, that wasn’t the best way to go about asking it, you know?”_

_“I know. But would you have voiced those words any other way?” Sherlock murmurs the words softly, not wanting to offend John and lose him here as well._

_There’s a puff of air in his ear as John sighs. “You mad bastard.” He chuckles. “There must have been another way, but you always have to go for the dramatic.”_

_He feels John smile against him and senses the affection behind those words. Sherlock relaxes, lips tentatively placing kisses in John’s hair. John turns his head, his mouth finding Sherlock’s. The kisses start slow and tender, just what Sherlock needs in that moment, before turning desperate and wanting. Yes, please, Sherlock thinks, erase any trace of “her”. He deepens the kiss, adding tongue and teeth, pleading to John without words. Small moans and sighs escape their lips and, when they part, both men are panting. John looks at him with eyes so full of lust and love, Sherlock feels like his heart will burst._

***

His heart pounds, the muscle beating too fast in his chest. Sherlock gasps awake, clutching at his shirt. He feels trapped, cloistered in the tight fabric. He claws at it, trying desperately to get it off, finally ripping it off, the buttons scattering across the floor of the living room. He hears a groggy “Sherl?” from his bedroom. Shit! He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the sofa; normally he had better control of his functions than this. But the drugs and strain of maintaining a celibate but “passionate” relationship with Janine were taking their toll.

“Go back to sleep,” he calls down the hall, “I’ve got to run. There’s been a break in the case.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

“M’kay,” comes the sleepy reply. He’s grateful she never questions these things, a perk of being the famous Sherlock Holmes. He grabs the duffle bag containing “Shezza’s” clothes and quickly changes into them before stashing the bag again and dashing out of the flat. He fools himself into believing he’s in a hurry because he doesn’t want to blow his cover, but really he knows he’s just desperate to see his John again.

***

_There’s a frantic rush this time instead of tender kisses and apologies, an air of urgency. Tender kisses are exchanged for shirts torn off as both men hurry for skin-to-skin contact. A part of Sherlock’s brain reaches back, trying to find the reason for this change in the pattern, and recalls the young man he saw as he entered. John’s neighbor’s son, a young man named Isaac. His mother will come to John for help. John will find him and, therefore, Sherlock. Sherlock knows this is his last time with his John before the real one yanks him back into the real world. So he licks and nips at his John, pulls him close and tastes his skin, his breath, his everything. John returns his fervor, hands roughly caressing, touching all of Sherlock’s sensitive places. They move together, words unspoken until the very end, when both breathlessly utter those three words neither man would ever dare in the harsh light of the real world._

***

Sherlock slowly regains consciousness as a pair of familiar footsteps approach. John has arrived.

There’s a brief exchange of words between him and Isaac. Sherlock settles himself and locks away his feelings for John. Sentiment is not allowed here. He rolls over and pushes his hood back, squinting at the bright light. The residue of the drugs still lingers sluggishly in his system, so his greeting is far from what it normally would be.

“Ah, hello, John. Didn’t expect to see you here. Did you come for me, too?”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been struggling with my current WIP and the need to write angst arose. Hope it's satisfactory until I can get the other one back on track.


End file.
